


Hero Worship

by akelios



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Clothed Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John might have had a crush on Batman through his formative years.</p><p>To be honest he might still have some distinctly adult feelings about Batman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by forestgreen, all remaining mistakes and terribleness are mine.
> 
> And honestly, fuck titles. I hate them. This thing is labelled 'and then john molests bruce in the car' in my head and on my computer. At least that's honest.
> 
> *vanishes back into the ether to pretend to be a responsible author once more*

John's fingers drum nervously on the wheel as he works the patrol car through traffic, heading away from the heart of the city, his eyes flicking to Wayne over and over again. He knows Wayne is aware of it, John can see the corner of Wayne's mouth quirking up in a tiny smirk. But he can't stop looking, can't ignore that he has _Batman_ in his car. Not Bruce Wayne, not the shattered remains of the hero that he'd met in Wayne's manor, but _Batman_.

Wayne turns to look out the window as they pass Blackgate, reaching up to unknot his tie with practiced ease. The sun catches on the skin of Wayne's hands, highlighting a thin web work of scars that have faded into almost nothing. John's mouth goes dry, a warm flush working up his body as he imagines running his tongue over the smooth skin, taking Wayne's long fingers into his mouth and-

“Fuck it.” John pulls the car into an alley a few block away from the address Wayne gives him, turning the engine off and listening to it tick as his fingers tighten on the wheel.

“John? Is something wrong?” Wayne's voice has lost all traces of 'Bruce', the mask that sits so badly on his soul. 

“No, I just-” John swallows, curses himself under his breath. “Look, I want- I need to do something. And I'd just like you to think about maybe not ninja punching me in the throat or anything, okay?” He doesn't wait for Wayne to respond, just twists against the seatbelt and leans across the car.

Wayne's eyes are wide as John's lips crash into his. He breathes out a word, the sound vibrating against John's teeth as he swallows the moan that Wayne's voice becomes. One of Wayne's hands comes up to rest against John's shoulder, fingers tight in the thick fabric of John's uniform jacket but he doesn't push John away.

The kiss is awkward, slippery and rough and John's teeth catch against Wayne's lips, biting and scraping in the worst way possible but Wayne doesn't seem to mind. He bites back, fingers digging into John's shoulder, leaving no doubt as to the strength behind that grip. The dull throb of almost pain sends a bolt of arousal straight to John's dick and he fumbles blindly at the clasp of the seatbelt, needing it off. His elbow smacks into the steering wheel, a sharp impact that makes his fingers go numb and John is forced to pull away from Wayne, lips swollen, mouth wet.

“Jesus.” John finally finds the release, the belt retracting with a tearing hiss as it slides back into place, out of John's way. 

Wayne is smiling, breathing slow and even as if John can't see the bulge in his fucking over priced slacks. As if his lips aren't slick and red and begging to be bitten again and again until Wayne has to fight just to get a single breath. He's going to say something any second, some joke that puts John off and makes them both move on. John can see it in his eyes, in the regret and sadness that is already seeping back in.

“Yeah. No way.” John turns, no longer tangled in his seatbelt and slides up onto the seat, leaning over until the gear shift is digging into his stomach. He grabs at the seatbelt across Wayne's chest as he goes, tugging at it and forcing it tighter. It's a hint, not anything that would actually stop Wayne from getting away if he really wanted to.

The fabric of Wayne's pants is skin warm beneath John's sweaty palms as he braces himself, careful of the lame leg. John slides one hand along the soft fabric of Wayne's shirt, tugging it free from his pants to bare a strip of pale, scarred stomach. He presses his mouth to the largest of the scars, a burn long healed, and drags his tongue along the width of it, shuddering at the too smooth feel of it.

Wayne groans, John's name, and his hips roll beneath John. 

John scrapes his teeth gently over a series of raised slashes, claw marks if he didn't know any better, and he works the cool metal of Wayne's belt buckle loose, fingers sure as he finds Wayne's fly. The sound of the zipper grinding down is almost lost in the wet moans that John breathes out against Wayne's stomach and the gasping groans that are coming louder and louder from Wayne's throat.

John pushes Wayne's pants open, shoving down against Wayne's. John pulls himself away from the cool, faintly spicy taste of skin beneath his lips to get his first good look. 

The dark fabric of Wayne's slacks frames the pale spread of skin that John has bared. He watches John through eyes gone almost black with lust and John leans in for another kiss. Wayne tastes like coffee and something sweet enough to cut through the bitter remnants of the coffee.

John pulls away, licks his lips and swallows, taking the taste of Bruce Wayne, of Batman, deep inside of himself and he palms Wayne's erection through the soft cotton of his underwear, the fabric slick already beneath his hand. He meets Wayne's eyes again, tightens his fingers carefully and slides his thumb beneath the waist band, tugging down slightly.

Wayne shivers as his cock pulses beneath John's hand, a fresh trickle of warm liquid seeping through the cotton to run across John's fingers. He reaches for John, fingers sliding along the back of John's neck to tighten in John's hair. John's stomach drops, fear of Wayne asking him to stop sharp in his veins.

“Please, please let me do this. Please.” John's voice is rough and he doesn't know what he'll do if Wayne says no, die of embarrassment and frustration, probably, but Wayne just nods, a quick jerk of his head up and down and John doesn't need anything else.

John dives back down, his back sending up a small twinge of pain in protest and then he has Wayne's skin beneath his lips again, his tongue curling through the small dark hairs that lead down thicker and thicker until they vanish beneath the clean white of Wayne's underwear. John follows them down, mouths noisily at the head of Wayne's cock through the soaked cotton, savoring the mix of bitter and clean flavors on his tongue.

Wayne is silent but for the harsh rasp of his breathing, but John can hear the plastic of the oh-shit-bar creaking beneath his grip. John pulls back enough to jerk at the thin fabric, managing to get it down far enough to allow Wayne's cock to slide free, the head bumping up against John's chin, leaving a sticky trail behind. John bites back a whimper at the feel of the slick, weeping glide of Wayne's cock over his skin and moves to cup Wayne's balls through the bunched up fabric of his underwear. 

John pulls his head back slowly, letting the head of Wayne's cock bump deliberately over his chin, his lips, until he can bathe the shiny, swollen head with his tongue. He mouths wetly at the broad head, groans as he is rewarded with another pulse of pre-come that floods over his tongue and dribbles over his lips. John rolls Wayne's balls in their wet wrapping, struggling to find some sort of rhythm between his mouth and fingers. 

He ignores the growing ache of his own cock, hard and leaking in his uniform pants, and swallows Wayne down. John breathes in around Wayne's cock and every breath carries Wayne's scent, his taste, suffusing it into John's body. He sucks, slides his mouth back up until just the head is resting deliciously between his lips and wiggles the tip of his tongue into the leaking slit of Wayne's cock, begging for more.

Wayne's hand is heavy on the back of John's neck, a solid weight that doesn't demand but asks, and John's hips jerk involuntarily, his entire body lighting up as he comes in his pants. John groans around Wayne's cock, pants for breath as his vision swims with pleasure and he takes Wayne in as deeply as he can, hand and mouth working Wayne, working _Batman_ with a desperate intensity.

John slides his tongue over the throbbing flesh, curls his lips over his teeth and bites down as carefully as he can just behind the head of Wayne's cock. Wayne's balls are heavy and swollen in John's hand and John works Wayne harder, faster, reaches up blindly beneath Wayne's shirt to find the peaked flesh of his nipples. John rolls the numbs beneath his thumbs, caressing the warm muscles of Wayne's chest as he moves between the twin points. 

Wayne cries out, finally, when John scrapes over one nipple with his nails, and John has only the faint tightening of Wayne's fingers on the back of his neck for warning before Wayne's hips drive up and John's mouth is flooded with hot, heavy fluid. John swallows as fast as he can, shuddering and his cock twitching as some of Wayne's come slips out over John's lips to leave warm trails down his chin. 

John doesn't release Wayne until his cock is limp and shrinking in John's mouth, and even then John lingers, licking the softening flesh gently until it's shining clean and wet with John's saliva. He licks his lips as he sits back, wanting to catch every last drop even as his hands work to set Wayne to rights, taking the opportunity for one last caress.

John can't bring himself to look at Wayne as he settles back into his own seat. He wants to say something, say thanks, as weird as he thinks it might sound, but he can't get the words to come out, can't stop running his tongue over his teeth, seeking out every last hint of the taste of Bruce Wayne in his mouth.

“I...” Wayne coughs and John can hear him fiddling with his tie, undoing it the rest of the way. “Thank you. But you-” 

John looks up, meeting Wayne's gaze, and he seems paler than before, eyes burning dark in his face.

“Oh, I did. I really, really did.” John palms the wet front of his own slacks, smiling. “And thank _you_. You've got no idea how long I've been thinking about doing that.” He gives Wayne a crooked grin. “Well. There's usually a lot more black armor and it's never been in the front of a GCPD patrol car before, but. Basically,” John waves a hand at Wayne, “Mister Wayne, this is kind of a fantasy of mine.”

Wayne laughs, a weird, strangled sound. “I think we're beyond _mister_ now, aren't we, John?”

“Yeah. I guess. Bruce.” John tries it, feels the weight of Bruce in his mouth again as he rolls his tongue around his name. “Well, Bruce. Um. Old Town, right?”

Wayne looks at John for the space of a dozen heart beats and John can feel the layers of his soul being peeled back beneath that unblinking gaze. “Yes.”

“Right.” John turns the car back on and says nothing more as he pulls back out into the afternoon traffic.


End file.
